Trialed
by ReeReeWithAngst
Summary: Octavian's living a normal, stable life, court ordered to remain a safe distance from Camp Half Blood. Until he lets the rage he suppressed during therapy build up silently til the point where he murders his parents. Now he waits for the law to catch up with him while he goes about his casual life.
1. Routine

**This is based on the premise that Octavian is capable of murder and the killer of his two truly horrible parents. He is on trial for it and has to face Rachel, who he might be falling in love with, and his younger brother, who he didn't know existed, as well as own up to the monster he is and figure out how to become anything else.**

* * *

You ever do something dark?

Something gritty.

Something that you're been building up to for forever and always and was just waiting to come out until now?

Now, for Octavian Steve Alexander was actually last night, and he was still washing blood out of his shirt (tumblr had shown him how, of _course_ tumblr had shown him how). He lived alone in a small apartment a restraining order's distance from Long Island Sound. It had been a long trip here and back, but he'd traveled all night and until the law caught up with him money was no sweat. He was exhausted but wouldn't be such a novice that he got caught with blood on his shirt, pants, and the duffel bag he'd shoved both in before changing into his extra outfit. He hung the items out to dry over his shower rod and approached the couch. He heard the squealing from around the corner, and, despite the dismal yesterday, couldn't help grin, even laugh.

Before he'd stepped even two more feet he was being tackled by a massive white fluff ball.

"Glaceon! Down boy!" He chided happily, the dog had been asleep when he'd gotten home early that morning, then he had slept himself, and then laundry. Now however both were wide awake and happy to see each other. Glaceon barked in reply, dropping off of his master.

"Wanna go for a walk old friend?" Octavian asked the excitable dog. Glaceon nearly tackled him again in an overwhelmingly positive response.

So off they went. Glaceon pulling ahead, Octavian putting up a good fight. The dog chased squirrels and he exchanged gossip with several neighbors.

They were all kind to him, and he was kind back. Civilized, interesting.

Certainly not in the least psychotic. They wouldn't expect it of him. No one here knew off his banishment from the Camps. Only people from Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter would consider him murderous in anyway. And if any of them put two and two together about the Californians murdered and the barely remember eldest son of said victims.

Could you call someone a victim if they got what was coming to them?

No matter.

When he got home he was exhausted and sweaty, and both he and Glaceon needed a bath. Learning from previous mistakes, he gave the dog a bath first. He was twenty times dirtier when he was done with Glaceon then he had been before, and was more than ready for a very long shower. While he washed and sang along to Twenty one Pilots and his personal weakness of One Direction he missed three calls, which he decided to ignore after his shower too. Probably the Library about an overdue book he hadn't finished. But money still wasn't a problem. He'd taken generously from Victoria and Steve Alexander's bank accounts, leaving enough for it not to be too suspicious until the bodies were actually found. And he couldn't say whether or not the security cameras outside the ATM had picked up his face.

He wasn't really running from the law, merely hoping to live his life comfortably for awhile until he got caught. He had no doubt he would get caught, simply hoped it would be prolonged for awhile so he could spend his days of freedom with Glaceon. Maybe go to neighborhood book club, or finish reading the book he was getting fined ten cents a day for.

Maybe break the restraining order and go visit Camp Half Blood. Or leave anonymous roses for that pretty Rachel girl. She'd never go for him, with even less of a chance if he was exposed as murderer. Still, he liked planning out his schedule as the world remained unaware of his crimes. He went outside on the deck, Glaceon following curiously, to water the tomato plants the previous renter had left behind. He'd found it too sad to just let them die or throw them away, so for a couple of months had cared for them as much as he cared for himself and Glaceon. Ceres would be impressed, if he said so himself. The view from his little porch was of the Apartment's playground, and, as it was a busy Saturday, there were dozens of kids out on it messing around.

A few waved, and he smiled and waved back.

It was amazing, the perfect life really, and not even a dream. He had finally embraced the monster he was and no one had any clue. Therapy had declared him normal (of course he'd hidden everything that made him anything but) and here no one recognized him for what he'd been, or saw him as creepy or freakish.

Losing his powers had been the best thing to ever happen to him.

A few of these people were even his friends.

He'd never _had_ friends before. His smile wavered a little when he realized that would all come crashing down.

But it hadn't yet. He still held on.

He went through out the day, ordering pizza, tipping nicely. Visiting the Apartment Complex's pool.

Acting as if everything was normal.

Playing with Glaceon ended his day, and for the night he almost forgot the murders.

But he wasn't the only one the murders affected.

He would learn that soon enough.

For now he rested easy as his parents rested in peace.

* * *

 **What do you guys think?**


	2. Not Routine (Somewhere in Sacremento)

**This is based on the premise that Octavian is capable of murder and the killer of his two truly horrible parents. He is on trial for it and has to face Rachel, who he might be falling in love with, and his younger brother, who he didn't know existed, as well as own up to the monster he is and figure out how to become anything else.**

* * *

Ah, to be fourteen. The young innocence, the just sliding into being comfortable in your own body, the 22nd restatement of the alibi that pardons you from being a murder suspect.

Let's just say Caesar hadn't planned on doing his algebra homework in the police station waiting room. To indicate that the boy was mourning the death of his parents would be a blatant lie. But he certainly wasn't celebrating. At that moment, while he puzzled out X equals negative seven and Y equals 48 and why all of that mattered when he was now an orphan kept from his own home, he was mostly just in shock. Someone had killed both of his parents. And the family he had been spending the night with when it occurred _had_ confirmed his alibi but people look at you differently when you're in a situation where you need an alibi confirmed.

Caesar shivered in his seat. It was cold for summer in Urban Cali. Then he realized it was only him. Out of nowhere tears came rushing. No one even looked at him. Social services had yet to come for him and he felt very alone. And so tired...

"Caesar Alexander?" Caesar Victor Alexander, his full name. And he hated it. Had _always_ gone by Alexander. Had put up so many walls and masks to be seen as cheerful, and normal. Now he was crashing fast. He followed an officer to the interrogation room, where, as a formality, he was hooked up to a lie detecting machine. Maybe it was for the best, he could lie tears into people's eyes, and his biggest lie was the smile on his face. It wasn't there now, but there wasn't a person he hadn't fooled outside of this station with the "Oh Alexander's so happy all the time isn't that nice?" act.

The questions started basic, stuff he wouldn't have to lie through. Where he'd been the night, at a sleepover with his friend Charlie, and how he'd found out about the murder, by a call from their gardener. Then they asked him what his parents were like, and if anyone would have motive to kill them. He faltered.

"No, of course not... My parent's weren't bad people." The lie detector caught his fib.

"Be honest Mr. Alexander." They reprimanded sternly.

"Okay so they weren't the best but I don't know anyone who would murder them."

"We looked into it and found your father drank frequently and had emotional stability issues. Perhaps he angered someone at a bar?"

"He only drank at home." Caesar replied coldly and honestly. He didn't even twitch in his seat, and the smile he was so known for was nowhere in sight.

"Did he ever get violent?" Caesar couldn't reply. He always smiled for a reason. His father only lost it when facades crumbled and someone appeared unhappy, as many people were in Steve Alexander's presence.

"How'd you get a cut on your cheek?" They thought they were being gentle but they weren't.

"Shaving." Another truth. A search for bruises would prove a whole 'nother thing. Prove that sometimes even cheery, charming "Alexander" broke down sometimes.

"Alright. Now we need to ask you what you know about a suspect. You must answer honestly and keep our suspicions confidential, alright?" Now they were babying him. No matter, he felt a little more at ease. Confident he was unfamiliar with the killer whoever it was. Unless they had killed themselves, which had been suggested.

"Yes sir."

"What do you know about the whereabouts of your brother Octavian?"

"I HAVE A BROTHER?!" He screeched, falling out of his chair. His reaction was legitimate. He had had no idea. His parents had, while alive, never mentioned having another son. There were no pictures. If they did have another son, if these people weren't confused they had been proud enough of him to bring him up. When they were pretending to be a good family, when, for instance, business associates came over, Victoria might mention Caesar's adequate grades or something to make her sound like a proud and involved mother. He knew it was fake but it did spark a light in the almost hopeful teen's eyes that she actually sort of noticed him. She obviously wasn't proud of or involved in the life of Octavian, if he was even real. Caesar mulled it over as he got back in his seat.

What would that mean for him?

If he really did have a family somewhere?

Of course, they thought this mystery man might be the killer.

Perhaps he should thank him, if he was...

No... No, those were his parents.

Were they though?

No, no perhaps not.

He would never have a family.

How cold was it in here?

He hit pavement, not knowing until he did that he was falling.

* * *

 **So that's things from Caesar's perspective, and honestly, he is one of my favorite people to write... How do you think I did? Did I write the shock well? How about his cheery exterior melting away? I love him... Let me know! I love feedback.**


	3. Therapy (Much needed)

**Oh, I love this chapter so much. I hope you all will love it too!**

* * *

His therapist was a demigod, one of his Greek relatives actually, on Apollo's side (of course). And the man, Lionel Greene, would readily and repeatedly say that Mr. Alexander was making great progress. Just getting everything off his chest had seemed to help the 21 year old _a lot_. They'd talked for hours and hours about his troubled past. About his broken childhood and unwanted power. As well as about the exact moment his power had flickered off and the confused feelings he'd felt when it was gone. Dr. Greene had allowed Octavian to scream for an entire session solely about how much he hated his parents, and then had been able to sit down and have a civilized discussion about why their following session, where Octavian's voice didn't raise once.

On the best days Octavian could talk a solid half hour on the joys he had in his twisted life. Dr. Greene encouraged him to think through how his raccoon had brought him comfort and friendship when no one else did, and never discouraged such a sentimental attachment between man and piece of fluff. He nurtured the light in Octavian's eyes when Glaceon was brought up in passing conversation. But the best days, though not few and far between, weren't the only days. Some days Octavian could only cry as his emotional scars got touched upon, nevertheless there would always be days where he was laughing and would mention things that had always made him happy. Dr. Greene had been keeping up with it, and was determined to watch a new addition, an affection for red hair and green hair that may or may not turn into anything.

At the beginning of his sessions however there had been no semblance of happiness in the tense and tyrannical scarecrow's existence. In the first few sessions there'd been nothing but hatred and anger. Dr. Greene was used to having patients that had extreme cases of pent up anger and pain. Soon he had Octavian enrolled in anger management class that had helped many of his and his colleagues' patients. It was slow at first, but within a month there had been result, and Octavian could now discuss nearly anything with out yelling or trying to inflict harm on himself or his therapist. Now that that progress had been made, the doctor didn't have to worry about treading lightly, and had traversed nearly all of Octavian's psychological defects. He could trace the man's hurt back to four years of abuse from his father, which caused an eventually need to close himself off emotionally. And he recognized how the boy's mother had instilled the need to be praetor, creating what was perhaps one of Octavian's most unhealthy obsession, the desperate need for success and power. He'd had to coax that out of him, leaving only a healthy dose of ambition in the suffering man.

Health, too, was a concern of the doctor. They had had to work on certain areas of Mr. Alexander's lifestyle. Technically he wasn't allowed to prescribe medicines, but there was nothing against the law about advising his 21 year old patient to kill his aspirin addiction. The addiction had sprouted from a constant string of headaches from his youth and teenage years, and his dependency on them had become far too unhealthy. As they discussed it in what would be, but wasn't recognized as, Octavian's last session as a liberated man, Dr. Greene was more than impressed by his patient's progress in weening himself off of the painkiller. Octavian could also report that he had switched to decaf coffee, which seemed to do away with his extra nervous energy, just as the doctor had predicted. There was something about his patient that troubled Lionel Greene though, and he wasn't sure if he could put his finger.

"Mr. Alexander, I am no dietitian, but you do seem thinner since your last visit. Is anything troubling you?"

"No sir, I'm really happier than ever. Honest." He did seem sincere.

"Alright... Wel then, I think you've progressed enough to be let out for today. I'll see you next time and remember, if you ever feel lost, scared, or unsafe, if you ever feel yourself starting to regress, whatever you need, you can schedule me any time. I'm always here to help." He didn't know how much he had to help.

"I know sir." Octavian smiled and the therapist smiled hesitantly back. As the seemingly stable blond left Lionel Greene thought he saw a glimmer of Octavian's former, dark self in his glittering blue eyes. But the look passed in a second and Octavian was gone just as fast. Besides, the doctor had many other patients to deal with.

So when the call came from the California FBI, about a day or two later, asking about Mr. Alexander, he'd practically forgotten that look of evil. And of course he claimed patient confidentiality, what kind of doctor would he be if he hadn't. Still, he was shaken by the call. From what they said, one of his better, healthier and more stable patients was a potential murderer. He hung up, shivering a little.

"No." He murmured.

"Not him. He's made too much progress." He wanted to believe that the breakthroughs had done good instead of sowing evil. But that brief twinkle of pure madness in the man's eyes and he'd left the day before... Perhaps.

Lionel Greene did not sleep easily that night. And he would have similar trouble sleeping later, when asked to testify in court.


	4. Deceit of Decaf

**I made a continuity error because Caesar has the ability to heal others and himself and in chapter 2 I still said he might have bruises, which he wouldn't since he would use his power to get rid of any**

* * *

He only lied to his therapist once.

Well, this one. He'd had one before Dr. Greene who hadn't been a demigod. He'd lied the pants off of that guy and soon he'd been switched into a therapist who he could trust. And it was the first person he'd ever trusted. It was amazing, really... Having trust.

Perhaps he'd lose that trust, if the therapist knew that he'd been lied to.

It was the decaf. He couldn't stay on it. It was awful. Now he had switched back to caffeine. Sweet, glorious caffeine. His nervous energy was back, and so he went for a run with Glaceon and then a swim in the Complex's pool before heading to work.

He had a small office job where he sold products over the phone. He'd always been persuasive, a trait he learned from his mother who rarely had people say no to her. He had though. She'd just _begged_ for mercy when the knife was at her throat. No then, but now he was a yes man. Saying yes to each customer as he made sales effortlessly. Making them think they were the ones calling the shots. The ones winning. But they weren't. It was so easy. Too easy. Making people trust him. Making them think he had their best interests in mind when he never had. This was all for profit. An end to the means. That's what it had been before hadn't it? An end to the means. Killing for peace. Ironic perhaps. But there it was. He certainly felt at peace. For the most part, except... His leg bounced up and down. Nervous energy, should have stuck to decaf, nasty muck.

But there it was. He was happy, wasn't he. There was peace now. He was on lunch break, why shouldn't he be? He sold more than anyone else had. He decided to go home and check on Glaceon, as he had many times. But he had barely stood up and grabbed his keys when a man in uniform walked up to him. It was just a security guard, Joseph, if he recalled.

"Hello, what seems to be the problem?" He asked, without a twitch of his nervous energy. He was perfectly calm. Perfectly persuasive.

"Mr. Alexander, I don't mean to cause a disruption, but...There are detectives outside who would like to talk to you. I'm sorry."

"It's not trouble Joseph, really. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding." The security guard nodded without removing his hand from his night stick. He thought that Octavian would actually put up a fight. As if. His cold persuasion didn't need any physical struggle to help him out. He could talk himself out of any situation, and he really didn't want to hurt poor, nervous Joseph.

He stepped outside, remaining calm. It was a nice day, really, a beautiful day. There was a breeze that played with his shaggy blond hair. He'd been meaning to get that cut into something more professional. Something more... Roman.

That was when a small part of his facade cracked, and he let out a small snort. Roman. When was the last time he'd worried about seeming Roman? Looking, acting, being Roman. Those monsters were a part of his past. A part he'd let go of completely when he'd left Sacremento behind.

"Mr. Octavian Alexander, is it?"

"I go by Octavian if you will." He said calmly.

"Did you just laugh?"

"Oh yes, I was just thinking that this was a lovely day, and it is a shame that my lunch break will be spent talking to you."

"This isn't really a joking matter Mr. Alexander."

"Octavian, I'm begging you." He said, not begging at all.

"Mr. Alexander is my father." He was careful with those words, intelligent.

"Was your father." The detective said, perhaps not so intelligent, admitting right away that they whole thing dealt with murder.

"What happened to my father?" Octavian asked, still not letting go of his feigned innocence. The detective momentarily bit his lip.

"Your father and mother were recently murdered in their home in Sacramento. And you recently went to Sacramento. Now if you'll get into the vehicle we'll take you to a place where you can explain why those events aren't related."

"Of course. Happy to oblige." He got into the back of their car quietly, folding his hands in his lap. His thoughts were collected, for the most part, only concerned about Glaceon, for he had no one else to worry about, and the only give away that he was worried at all was the bounce of his leg in the backseat.

"Nervous, Mr. Alexander?"

"I feel my rights should be respected enough to allow a silent car trip." He responded with ease. Had he worn glasses, he would have pushed them up on his nose in utter satisfaction. Somewhat of a pity that he did not wear glasses. The rest of the ride was in silence as requested.

"You were in Sacramento the other evening were you not?"

"Can you specify the evening?" The evening was specified.

"I was in California yes."

"For a very, _very_ short time. What did you do in California? Visit family? Visit Disney World?"

"Disney land."

"You visited Disney land?"

"Oh no, I couldn't afford that. But Disney World is in Florida, Disney Land is in California. I would love to visit both, they're on my to-do list, however, unfortunately, I was not at either." He had a beautiful air of pretension that he was milking for all it was worth.

"Mr. Alexander, stick to the subject at hand, what were you doing in California?"

"Not visiting Disney world." He muttered bitterly.

"Mr. Alexander!"

"Didn't I ask to be called Octavian?"

"Request denied."

"Do I get a phone call?"

"Do you have anyone to call?"

"Not at the moment no, since I doubt my dog would pick up, but perhaps later."

"What were you doing in California?"

"Visiting California, clearly. I used to live there."

"That's another thing..." The detective trailed off.

"Never mind, we'll deal with that later. Did you visit your parents while you were in Sacramento?"

"I never said I was in Sacramento. You said that I was, but I never agreed."

"Then why did you leave California so quickly, Mr. Alexander?"

"Octavian. And I left because I have a dog at home who I forgot to make arrangements for. Besides, California is hot."

"Did you consider visiting your parents and brother while in California?" The detective asked. That's when Octavian faltered. Brother? He thought he'd been so ready to take on everything the murders entailed. But brother?

"I didn't really consider it no."

"Perhaps it was premeditated then."

"Obviously nothing was premeditated, as I forgot to make arrangements for Glaceon."

"Glaceon?"

"My dog. He's lovely."

"Isn't that a pokemon?"

"Yes, is this important?"

"No. Sorry." Inwardly, Octavian was grinning. He had made the detective apologize. He was winning.

"You went off the grid for several year Octavian." And he had gotten the man to call him Octavian! He had basically won.

"From the age four to now, just gone. Where were you Octavian?" Octavian didn't answer.

He couldn't.

He was trapped.

"Perhaps you were preparing yourself for the day you would murder your parents." He looked down at his leg, which bounced nervously, and with great regret about not staying with decaf, he murmured in defeat,

"Perhaps I was."

He had known that he would only win until he lost.

And he'd known from the beginning that in the end, he would lose.


	5. Patterns Part 1

**Well this one is great.**

* * *

He felt awkward. Out of place. Every little thing made him uncomfortable. His suit itched. The chair, when he sat which was rarely, was stiff. The lights hurt his eyes. The smell of flowers was overwhelming and made him nauseous. People came and patted his shoulder or hugged him and he had to _fight_ tonot flinch. Some people from school came and whispered condolences and studied him like a specimen. His current legal guardian, a social worker who was just watching over him, "for a little while," stood by the door as if he thought Caesar would run. Caesar was _far_ too tired to run.

What was the worst was the bodies. It hurt to look at them, but he'd been studying them for hours. Hours maybe. Maybe just minutes. It was just a visitation, not even the real funeral, but it was already unbearable. People hugged him. Said nice things about Victoria. Made up nice things to say about Steve, though most of them didn't know him. He rarely left home. Had rarely left home... He'd had a rough couple of last years. Caesar winced thinking about having just experienced his father's _last_ years. People he didn't know peered at him, and told him it was okay to cry, but it wasn't, and he wasn't going to.

It seemed like they'd never leave. It seemed like they were using his parent's death as an excuse to have a social event. He overheard some women criticizing the funeral parlor's decor. Men in the corner were speculating that Steve had killed his wife and then himself. Caesar knew that the forensics team had discovered Steve had died first, and in New York there was a confession. He didn't say that though, instead holding on to the side of his mother's coffin to keep from toppling over. Maybe he was sad, maybe he wasn't, but the whole idea just confused him. Someone had hated his parents enough to kill them, one at a time. They, he, didn't do it for money, though he'd dipped a little into their bank account, he'd done it out of hatred. What confused and troubled him the most, is that he understood the motive, and wasn't angry, or, yet, sad, just, confused.

Caesar would be going to the trial. HE wasn't a witness, wouldn't be questioned. He would just sit and bite his lip while they questioned his older brother. When he could stand on his own two feet without falling the last people were trickling out of the parlor. The social worker, James, came over as Caesar stared down at his mother. She looked content, wearing her favorite dress, a purple sleeveless thing though they'd taken great care to cover her arms with a thick white jacket. For some reason, that stood out to him.

"You ready to go Caesar?" His mind still tugged at the issue of the jacket. That wasn't her jacket, she would have never worn it.

"May I have a minute alone with my parents?" He asked, putting pain into his voice, like he wanted to be alone before he broke down and cried even though he never would.

"Of course. Meet me in the car. I'll tell the owner to let you alone, but don't take too long, it's late."

"Yes sir." He waited until he was absolutely sure he was alone and then pulled up the sleeves on his mom's jacket. Long and short scars decorated her arms, forming a strange pattern. She also had her SPQR tattoo, but that wasn't anything new. The patterns burned into his mind. He rolled her sleeves back down and moved on to the arms of his late father. The patterns were different and he could tell now, they'd been random. He understood, somehow. It was as he was was doodling with a pencil. He was never specific, art just happened.

During the car ride back he copied the patterns down in his sketch book. From his best guess, the carvings had been done after his parents were already dead. Strange thoughts filled his head, like how the patterns really were beautiful, done in charcoal rather than blood and how he wondered what his brother had felt as he cut. If his art had filled him with anything. If there was meaning behind any of it. I he did it on his own skin. He kept drawing, all from memory, since the patterns were unforgettable. He realized sleepily that he admired the completionist in the murderer. He hadn't stopped until it had run its course.

They pulled up to the apartment he was staying at. It was much smaller and more crowded than what he was used to, but he like it. James, and his wife Gracelyn, and their fiver year old son Bailey were all nice. This wasn't their first time taking care of a case for awhile, so he had his own room for privacy. He shared a bathroom with the five year old though. He went to his room, grabbed something that had at one time been his mother's, and hid out in the bathroom, meticulously copying over the the carvings on his arms. It hurt like fire, and nothing was clearer for doing it, but handling the golden knife made him feel a little better There was a knock on the door.

"You okay Caesar?" He needed to ask to be called Alexander, or Alex. The name Caesar was getting on his nerves. He put power into his arms and his skin knit itself together. The scars disappeared and he looked none the worse for wear. He flushed the toilet, washed blood out of the sink, and walked out of the bathroom, the knife still in his hand. It didn't matter, no one would see it. No one ever saw what Caesar wanted to hide.

"I'm fine. And I go by Alexander."


	6. Patterns Part 2

He was sitting in a holding cell. He was drumming on his leg and sitting on a holding cell. It was late August, and he was tired. He was more than just tired. He was going to trial for as much of a reduced sentence as he could get on a plead guilty. His state mandated lawyer was going to argue that mental and physical abuse had let up to him killing his parents, but, but he didn't really care. He couldn't have possibly cared. There had been such a long time when he didn't get it. When he didn't realize that he was hated. Well, maybe not hated but never truly loved. His father had beaten him anxiously before Octavian did anything wrong, did anything at all other than show a little child's emotion. And his mother had never really tried to stop it. Perhaps she intervened now and then, but mostly she watched out for her self and for their perfect-ish family image.

And, because he had begged, he might soon get sentenced to heavily guarded house arrest. He wanted to spend his last days in limbo with Glaceon, who, really, was the only family he had left.

Except that brother they had mentioned. He stood up now. He paced a little. It agitated him. He wanted to talk to his therapist, but... He couldn't imagine facing him now. Lionel Greene had been nice to him despite knowing what kind of person he was. He'd always hoped for that to happen, but only his therapist and Glaceon could treat him with that kind of humanity. In the eyes of everyone else, he was a freak or a monster or both. Now his therapist probably would see him as the same. Glaceon though... Glaceon was the only one who wouldn't betrayed him. The only one he had left.

Except that brought him back to his brother. HE HAD A BROTHER.

He knew that he had been cut off from his family, but he still felt like he should've been told that he had a younger brother. Right? Right? Wasn't that fair?

He felt sick. He pressed his forehead against the wall and a design popped into his head. It didn't help just to trace it on the wall. Nothing ever came unless there was sacrifice. Oh, the gods would say that teddy fluff was just as good, just as sufficient. And sure he could read stuff from that, fuzzily. It wasn't like he got prophecies, although he'd always wished that he could get prophecies. But he'd get like, flashes of what would happen next when he made a proper sacrifice. The better the sacrifice, the better the visions.

His blood was always effective.

His parent's blood had only been momentarily effective, since it wasn't really a sacrifice, but an act of vengeance. Although, in reality, so had half the patterns he'd formed on his own arms and made disappear with way too much aspirin and a little bit of unicorn horn. By the time the vision became just a trick of the light the patterns had taken a hold and he had to keep going until they were compete.

He hated that he derived pleasure from it, but monsters were supposed to. He hadn't been that kind of person from birth, he was sure of it. Somewhere deep down inside was the person that he'd been masquerading as since the restraining order.

He remembered the vision he'd had when he had murdered them. It still felt odd to throw around the word murder, much less plead guilty to it. But that vision took the edge off of it somehow.

He'd seen a girl, with red hair in a braid, and green eyes and an insane amount of freckles, twirling in a bedroom. It was the oddest thing, but the gods had chosen to give it to him.

He knew the girl of course. He loved the girl, or felt like he did. HE'd been in love with her since the first time he laid eyes on her, and had fought it.

That restraining order was the best thing to ever happen to him.

It forced him into a masquerade, where he was normal, happy, owned a dog, went to therapy, stopped his aspirin addiction.

That restraining order had forced him to go down so many of the right roads before he took a short cut to Sacramento.

The murder, that hadn't been fun.

*Murders.

It was the carving that he'd enjoyed. The carving and finally getting revenge. Not the active bit of seeking it out, but finally having it. Finally having it was amazing. And the carving. All his life he'd been fighting who he was, who he wasn't, who was in control, and who wasn't. It always seemed like someone else was in control of him. His parents, other campers, anyone bigger and stronger, anyone more persuasive, eventually, Gaea. That had been pretty awful.

But in Sacramento he found a moment, where he was both in control and not in control. Where he could plead guilty and be fine with it, but where he could also let the burdens roll off of his shoulders and let something else entirely take over.

It had almost been amazing.

But he wanted to go home.

Just for a little bit. He wanted to distract himself with his best friend.

And that got him back right where he started, sitting back down, tapping out a patter on his arms and legs, not being treated like he was a human.

Just like always.


	7. A portrait

She pulled her hair into a messy braid and began to paint. She had a beautiful view of the city from her balcony, and it was one of her favorite things to paint. In the morning light it was absolutely _glorious,_ so she got up early to paint it in sunrise. Paint spattered her clothing and got on her skin, but she ignored it. The light changed so she had to work fast. And she was determined to get it finished today. Today was important.

She had this idea that something was going to happen. It wasn't prophetic, she couldn't really do that anymore. But she still got hunches now and then. She added a brushstroke to her painting and smiled, finishing. New York City was beautiful if you didn't let negativity clog it up. Which was one of the reasons it was best for her to have her own place away from her parents and camp.

The drama those two things came up with sometimes made her want to shake her head and walk away. So she had. Admittedly her apartment was a little nicer than Octavian's place. In fact, his apartment could fit in most of the rooms in her apartment. She moved around the well decorated apartment, heading for the shower to get the paint off of her. She had just stripped down and turned on the water, climbing under the luxurious stream when the doorbell began to ring. She didn't hear it, she was listening to her music.

She had quite a collection.

Everything from Good Charlotte to Meghan Trainor.

And she was getting super lost in the music.

That is, until someone started banging on the door. Her eyes shot open and she rushed out of the shower, toweling off quickly and throwing on clean clothes. She hurried out to her front hall and threw open the door to whoever had the nerve to urgently beat it down.

"Yes, excuse me?" She said sharply, knowing that her father's puppets could get rude when they wanted to find her, if this was what that was. The man composed him self.

"You have a court summons to testify in a murder case." Rachel choked.

"A murder case? What? I'm in no way involved with murder!" She spat. The man shuddered, seeming afraid of her.

"I didn't indicate that you were but you were listed as someone to contact for a character reference regarding the man who pleaded guilty to murder, a Mr. Octavian Alexander." Her eyes widened and her heart stopped all the sudden. She felt a little dizzy, a little woozy.

"Alright. I will be there." Rachel said, feeling cold and trying to compose herself best as she could. He gave her a couple of dates and notified her that she'd be called. She nodded and tried to act like a mature adult living on her own but let's get one thing clear.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare was only 19 years old and she was terrified. She'd never experienced the feeling of actually _wanting_ to run into her parents' arms and be hugged and cuddled and cry.

But that would never happen. Her parents' arms weren't open. At least not for her. So she put on a warm fuzzy sweater and curled up on her couch, beginning to cry, hugging a pillow. She didn't understand what was happening to her, or why she felt so upset or why she couldn't get thoughts of him out of her head. She'd barely ever talked to him. He'd been a nasty, power hungry little brat...

...Whose eyes contained such a sadness, like all his life they'd been focused on one thing and one thing only, not being the outcast, the bad guy.

Well that had backfired.

He'd said _his_ name so formally after the words pleaded guilty to murder. Mr. Octavian Alexander. That stupid name! She threw the pillow across the room like a tween angrily getting over heart break. She had no idea why he did what he did to her but his name just hit her like a train.

And then those eyes.

Murderer, she reminded herself.

Those sad blue eye were the eyes of a murderer. Who had he murdered, anyway? And why was her creative mind so inclined to insist that whatever dirty deed he had done it was totally necessary for justice? Why was she trying to justify something so horrendous?

Why couldn't she stop thinking about him?

She groaned and went to get some ice cream, another silly preteen break up thing. They had barely talked, why was he stuck in her head? He probably didn't remember her name. Why did that matter? She ate her ice cream, putting on music so the silence and loneliness wouldn't feel so bad. When she was done with her bowl she decided to get back to her art. That was her income, after all. That and her parents. She sold her paintings and taught art for younger kids at a local gallery.

So it was natural for her to take her emotions out on a canvas. She painted without paying attention. Without thinking. Her talents had gotten better, and better. Sometimes her paintings reflected what she saw in her dreams. Sometimes more prophetic than other times. Right now, not prophetic in the least.

She wished it was though. She wished it was so crazy quest or something wicked insane involving another Percy Jackson spin off.

She would have excepted Zeus in a speedo, at this point.

Instead, his sad eyes, drawn gorgeous, and a shy smile that seemed to be for her. She screamed and fell backwards. It was him. It was him in that painting and it was...

Actually, it wasn't giving her the creeps.

But it made her feel something, something that after Percy she had promised she could bury and never feel again.

She screamed once more and squeezed her eyes shut so she didn't have to face the murderer.

The murderer that she was in love with.


	8. Blue eyes

**I just wanted to write a chapter that kind of just shows the casual intersection of Octavian's life and another and show his "normalcy" from another perspective. And so I give you Eddie.**

Eddie lived a simple life. He did his job, went to work, came home and kissed his wife and watched his three year old daughter Olivia sleep and dream. He wished his schedule was more flexible but didn't fight it. He supported his family and that was all that mattered. It wasn't a bad gig this time either. He'd been assigned with some real psychos in the past, but Octavian seemed pretty tame for a murderer.

Eddie Mann had worked for the State guarding potentially dangerous criminals in their pre-trial days. He could handle the work, he'd gone straight into the army after high school and had maintained his buff physique since. He had met his wife in the army but now he worked and Sherri stayed home with their daughter, while he stayed at someone else's home with a murderer.

He had opinions, too, about the trial. Not that he would ever be able to share them, just... It didn't add up. This Octavian guy didn't seem like a murderer, didn't threaten or talk big or smile creepily or even be unkind to Eddie. And he really loved his dog. And watered his tomatoes, and kept the apartment mostly clean, but not obsessively so. Maybe he is cold and calculating and plans every move to seem normal. But Eddie didn't think that was it. He thought... Well deep down he thought Octavian was a murder, but he was also a normal guy with a lot of broken. And that was why he did what he did.

Every day passed similarly. It was more babysitting than guarding. Octavian wasn't a danger to himself or to Eddie. Maybe outside he could cause some harm but that didn't seem what Octavian wanted to do. He seemed resigned to what he had done, a mistake or not, but it wasn't a repeat crime. And it was a crime he was willing to be sentenced for.

Lunch was delivery every day. Sandwiches. Octavian was about to go to prison or get a death sentence and so he had decided that he would try every sandwich from the deli Eddie had recommended when the ordeal had begun. Then they played various two person card games and played with Glaceon, Octavian's dog.

The day passed quickly, and then he went back to his wife and daughter.

"Hey sweetheart." Sherri said looking up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He kissed her lips.

"How was work?'

"Same."

"I... You amaze me, Edwin." Not many people called him Edwin but she was able to get away with it because she held his heart.

"I do? What for? You are the amazing one my love." Sherri wasn't one to blush, so his words didn't change her coloration. But she knew he meant it, he was devoted to her. She was his beloved wife, six months pregnant with their second child, a boy, the name yet to be determined, though Theodore was a top contender. He led her to the couch and wrapped his arms around her.

"You go to work everyday and spend time with a murderer."

"He's not proven yet."

"He confessed."

"Yeah." Eddie was still disappointed about that. When he spent time with the charge he wanted to believe there was innocence within him. Maybe it was just his eyes.

"He has eyes like Olivia, Sher." Eddie and Sherri had brown and green eyes respectively. Their daughter's eyes were a beautiful blue. Octavian's were similar. The murderer inadvertently reminded him of his child.

"I can't imagine that. It must be hard..."

"No... It isn't. When I go to work it isn't like the other times. He's just like a person. He isn't a threat or a paycheck... He's like a child who made a mistake. That doesn't mean I'm not glad he'll be getting time for what he did... But for the first time ever I wonder about the person I'm guarding. I wonder why."

"I love you for searching for innocence and humanity... But don't let it weigh you down. Whatever happens to that man is deserved. There is no point in feeling sad over what is set in stone."

"But what if it was Olivia? We would mourn if it was our daughter."

"Yes, Eddie, _we_ would. But he killed all those left to mourn him." He didn't argue, Sherri was tough and smart and good. But she was wrong. Eddie was left. The casual acquaintance. The paycheck. Eddie would mourn this man. And maybe he would be the only one. But maybe you only needed one person to grieve when your life goes awry.


End file.
